


charming snakes (i got bit)

by Lamachine



Series: Ladies of PoI - Harper Rose [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, PWP, Temperature Play, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 06:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3757897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamachine/pseuds/Lamachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Melting on the bed sheets, Frankie is another kind of ready, but still just as dangerous.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	charming snakes (i got bit)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt - Monster
> 
> Written for the [ladiesofpoi](http://ladiesofpoi.tumblr.com/) challenge.

The sound of the waves has long turned into a distant murmur, despite the open windows that offer a postcard landscape. Sun setting on the ocean in all its burning glory, and yet Harper has little care for it, focused as she is on the hot mess of limbs she and Frankie make.

 

The evening breeze promises relief, teasing Harper’s bare skin as her hands explore Frankie’s, tracing invisible lines.

 

Lying under her, Frankie grins. (She always does.)

 

Her blonde hair spreads around her face on the pillow like a halo, but Harper knows better. There are no angels here, and she remembers well the gun in Frankie’s hand, the sharp look in her eyes. The readiness of it all.

 

Melting on the bed sheets, Frankie is another kind of ready, but still just as dangerous.

 

Still Harper takes her time, kneads the muscles, strokes the skin, thumbs pressing over ribs. To Frankie it feels like mapping, perhaps; to Harper it’s taunting.

 

Her mind slowly summons the image of Frankie in the shipyard’s cabin, the coldness in her bones then, the stillness of Frankie ready to take a life. The violent blow to her gut as Frankie chose revenge over saving Harper’s life. That one step forward – gun rising – _ready_. Harper’s mouth runs dries and she blinks.

 

“What you waiting for?” Frankie insists, fingernails digging in the skin just above Frankie’s knee. (Oh so gently, still.)

 

Nothing about it is _waiting_ ; Harper is taking her time with lingering movements even though her instincts are on fire. She leans down slowly; this isn’t her first time charming a snake. Over and over Harper has fallen for a lot of dangerous people, and she knows this bit by heart. Knows the warmth of a gentle hand that could just as easily push you down the cliff.

 

As she breathes in the scent of Frankie’s perfume, Harper doesn’t allow herself to forget Frankie’s monstrous side. The beast within that demands blood and retribution for her brother’s murder. A wounded animal that would bite if Harper got too close, or moved too fast.

 

She likes playing with fire, always has. Jumps into the arena with the monsters and serenades them to sleep. Harper’s got a way with words, and she loves to taunt giants.

 

Frankie is a small one, perhaps, but a monster all the same. (They all are.)

 

She smirks, her breath merging with Frankie’s in an invisible cloud of heat. “Takes time babe,” she reminds her before she runs the tip of her tongue on Frankie’s lower lip.

 

Under her, Frankie shivers; a small pout of protest when Harper sits back up again. But her eyes gleam when Harper takes the burning candle off the settee.

 

(Ready.)

 

Patience is an ongoing battle inside, but cons have taught Harper its value. There is a right moment for everything; one to approach the monster, one to tame it. One to let it swallow her whole.

 

Frankie pushes herself off the mattress, elbows digging in the bed awkwardly. “You’re not gonna do it,” she mocks, biting her lip when Harper leans closer again. If the waves weren’t so loud, maybe she could hear her pulse. “You’re afraid.”

 

Harper laughs at that, and melted wax nearly falls on Frankie.

 

“Never been scared of anything,” Harper shakes her head, only to find Frankie’s hand reaching up. It latches at the back of her neck and forces her down, crashing their lips together. It takes but a second for Frankie to lose balance and fall back on the bed; wax follows, dripping on the sheets and on Harper’s hand.

 

“Shit,” she hisses, setting the candle aside to quickly take off the burning liquid. It stings all the way up her forearm, and when she turns to look at Frankie again, she finds her smirking. “Did that on purpose?”

 

Harper doesn’t need the answer; she knows. She’s been here before; the toying, the games. It’s her favorite part.

 

Frankie’s eyes brighten. “Well you were afraid of hurting me,” she repeats with the kind of pout that makes Harper want to run.

 

The kind of pout that is dorky and ridiculous, and way too familiar. The kind of pout one might stick around for – but that isn’t what Harper is made of. She’s here to leave, to be of little significance in other people’s lives. She sneaks in, takes what she needs and goes.

 

There’s a way to say what she is, but she doesn’t want to think it. The word Harper is looking for is right there, just under the surface, pushing against the skin to get out.

 

Instead of digging for it, Harper grabs the candle again, and waits for Frankie to take a breath before letting a few drops fall just over Frankie’s heart. The red wax creates a small constellation, gleaming beads like scarlet pearls. Frankie’s muscles tense up and she squirms lightly under Harper, her chest rising up as she closes her eyes.

 

“Again,” she asks, fisting the sheets, clenching her jaw. (Proving something.)

 

Perhaps for Frankie this is punishment; for Harper it’s edification. A war paint that she applies carefully to her monster, her viper; _hers_ , as she marks her again. This time one drop creates a line down Frankie’s stomach and the hiss it pulls turns Harper breathless.

 

Her arousal is pooling between her legs as she feels Frankie turning slick and she moves slowly, straddling one leg instead of Frankie’s waist. Under her, a hum of approval encourages her to carry on. With one hand teasing Frankie, the other draws a red line of wax down her sternum, all the way to her navel.

 

Nails dig into Harper’s thigh. “Fuck,” Frankie breathes out in pain before she swallows hard, “that hurts like a bitch.”

 

“That’s nothing Goldilocks,” Harper promises with a laugh, and earns herself a glare.

 

A finger slips into Frankie and her eyes fall shut again. “Focus on that,” Harper advises before she traces another line of candle wax across Frankie’s ribs. When Frankie opens her mouth again – to protest perhaps, let out a cry – Harper adds a second finger.

 

There’s a grin that flashes on Frankie’s traits and it disappears in a second, white teeth biting on her lower lip. “Harper,” she lets out, almost with reverence.

 

It’s exactly like charming a snake, and Harper knows not to get bit. (Most of the time.)

 

But Frankie’s hand is coming up her leg and caressing her, and for a moment Harper wonders just who is seducing whom. (Who the monster is.) It sends electric bolts through her stomach as she allows herself a moment just to _feel_ Frankie; her warmth and strength and the scent of her perfume rising in the air as if taking possession.

 

Harper lets a few more drops of wax fall on Frankie’s stomach before she sets the candle aside, her hand quickly falling on the mattress to keep her balance as Frankie curls her fingers inside her. With the constant movement of Frankie grinding against her hand, the drying wax cracks, revealing reddened skin on Frankie’s bright flesh.

 

(Marked.)

 

Breathing scarcely, Harper moves against Frankie’s fingers, quiet as the pleasure burns in her gut and all the way to her cheeks. Under her, Frankie’s chest comes up in waves, rhythmically grinding on Harper’s hand, a palm hitting her clit ever so often.

 

Frankie’s other fingers are digging in Harper’s forearm, urging her on. “Fuck,” she repeats a few times, soft whispers that Harper tries to ignore.

 

Within her, Frankie’s fingers relax, lose rhythm.

 

“I can’t-,” she wants to explain but struggles with the words.

 

It doesn’t matter; Harper already knows. (She always does.) She increases the pace, her hand fucking Frankie harder and harder, up until Frankie finally surrenders. As Frankie pulls her fingers out of Harper, her slick hand drops down to fist the sheets and she comes fast, body turning as solid as the dried wax coloring her chest.

 

Above her, Harper grins until Frankie opens her eyes again, a blurred vision amongst tired traits. And yet in a matter of seconds it switches, turns eager and proud.

 

Frankie has this was of keeping her chin up that makes Harper wants to punch her, but instead she allows her to tease her throbbing skin. It isn’t until Harper nods that Frankie finally lets herself in again, curling fingers moving fast, as if they had never left. When another hand rises to touch her, Harper circles the wrist and pins it down to the mattress.

 

(She can’t get bit.)

 

She closes her eyes to ignore Frankie’s; filled with admiration, reverence, a strange affection that Harper does not desire. Harper wants the monster, the fire that was ready to burn her whole in that shipyard – the anger that would destroy everything and everyone in its path.

 

 _Monsters_ , she knows how to charm. This _softness_ , those eyes, that pout – Harper hates it.

 

But when she opens her eyes again, coming without a sound against Frankie’s hand, Harper sees a small glimmer in the depths of her pupils. (Fear.)

 

And she knows she won.


End file.
